“Yes; I’ve known Miss Gerald for some time,” said Bob coldly.
“‘Known for some time’—” mimicked the commodore. “Phlegmatic dog! Well, what shall we do now?”
“Hang around until the concert’s over?” suggested Dickie.
“Hang around nothing!” said the commodore. “It’s one of those classical high-jinks.” Disgustedly. “Lasts so late the sufferers haven’t time for anything after it’s over. Just enough energy left to stagger to their cars and fall over in a comatose condition.”
“Suppose we could go to the bar?”
“Naughty! Naughty!” A sprightly voice interrupted.
The commodore wheeled. “Mrs. Ralston!” he exclaimed gladly.
It was the gorgeous lady of the gorgeous car.
“Just finished my shopping and thought I’d have a look in here,” she said vivaciously.
“Concert, I suppose?” from the commodore, jubilantly.